


Sir Gwaine and the Spirit of the Trees

by Smint100



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smint100/pseuds/Smint100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does the squirrel want Gwaine to follow it? And who is The Spirit of the Woods?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sir Gwaine and the Spirit of the Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HazelJ](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HazelJ).



SIR GWAINE AND THE SPRIT OF THE TREES

 

Gwaine had no problem staying awake while he was on watch, what with Leon and Percival’s snoring, Arthur’s muttering and Merlin thrashing around like a fish in a bucket. He turned once, thinking he heard a noise, but it was merely a badger foraging for around the base of a tree and he relaxed again. A while later there was another sound and he tensed. It came again. This time it was a squirrel, but not behaving like any squirrel he’d seen before. It approached him confidently and sat, watching him until it seemed sure he had seen it. And then it turned and scurried a few paces before pausing and looking back. It moved forward a little further and then waited again. And then it raised a paw and beckoned.

Gwaine finally relented and, balancing his sword in his hand, he followed the squirrel through the trees, brushing low branches out of the way until the squirrel stopped and he paused. As the branch cracked he looked up, but not in time to avoid it as it hit him directly on his head.

When he woke, it was to find himself stretched out on his back on the ground, wrists and ankles bound, divested of all his clothing except his trousers. He pulled at the bonds but they were taut. Slowly, he turned his head, trying to establish where he was. From the fitful light of the moon, it appeared to be a clearing in a grove of trees, but he had no idea where. Or why.

The why was answered first. Gwaine became aware of a light approaching from beyond the circle of trees. As it neared, he tensed, but the bonds held him. He lifted his head to make out that it was the figure of a woman dressed in a filmy cloak of forest green. She was the source of the light, it glowed from her body, silhouetting her figure. She stopped a few paces away from him and pushed the hood back from her face. She was beautiful, hair falling in curls onto her shoulders, a pale slender neck, delicate features. Gwaine could already feel his body responding to her.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am the Spirit of the Trees, Sir Gwaine.’

‘You know me?’

‘You were chosen.’

‘Chosen for what?’

She didn’t speak but undid the tie of her cloak and let it drift to the ground. Gwaine felt the stirring in his trousers as she stood naked in front of him. He longed to adjust himself, move his hardness into a more comfortable position, but he could not.

‘You have been chosen, noble knight,’ and then she moved forward and dropped to her knees between his legs.

‘But who are you?’ he repeated. ‘And what are you going to do with me?’

‘I am the Spirit of the Trees. These trees,’ and she indicated the circle around them. ‘Once a year we choose a man to renew our spirit.’

‘You’re going to kill me?’ He pulled hard against the bonds.

‘No! No, sir knight. We need your seed to help protect the spirits of the forest.’

‘My . . .?’

She leaned forward and ran a hand lightly over the bulge in his trousers. He released a gasp at her touch, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again as she reached up both hands, wrapped fingers into the top of his trousers, and began to ease them down over his hips. He groaned as the material pulled over his erection, at first with discomfort, but then with relief as it was released. She pulled them down as far as his knees and then stood back, head tipped to one side, eyes roving over his body. She pursed her lips and frowned.

At her expression, Gwaine felt a slight reduction in his tumescence. Was he inadequate? He’d had no complaints before.

‘There is a problem?’ he asked.

‘You bear the scars of battle,’ she said.

‘I am a knight of Camelot.’

‘Battles destroy the spirits of the trees.’

‘It is not something we choose willingly. We want to protect the spirits. Let me show you!’

‘You are . . . unusual, Sir Gwaine. Our . . . participants are not usually so . . . willing.’  

‘I’m game as well as Gwaine,’ he said, but the Spirit seemed not to be impressed by one of his better chat up lines.

She began to intone a low incantation, her voice breathy like the wind through the leaves. The trees began to respond, bending and bowing towards them as she sung the sweet words. The breeze caressed Gwaine’s naked skin like a million fingertips, but it was the spirit’s he wanted to feel. She stretched her arms out to the side and now brought them forward over him, fingers extended. He wanted her touch. He needed her touch.

She moved to his side and knelt at his waist, leaning forward so that her hair brushed against his skin, immediately restoring his erection. She placed her hands either side of his head, stroking through his soft flowing locks before she leaned in towards him and their lips met.

She tasted like the morning dew, fresh and delicate, as their lips moulded against one another. Gwaine longed to hold her, clenching his fists against the bonds, as her tongue slid between his warm lips and into his mouth, exploring and twining expertly with his, her fingers grasping his hair, gently tugging it to pull his mouth harder against hers.

His arousal increased even further as she untwined one hand and began to stroke it over the short beard, onto his neck, and then trickled along his collarbone to circle the hollow between the two bones. At that point Gwaine realised he had a new erogenous zone. Her fingers moved slowly down his chest, over the firm muscles, scraping the skin through the chest hair and causing Gwaine to moan into the kiss. She circled his nipple with her nail and he arched towards her, pulling against the ties. Very slowly she dragged her nail over the peak, and it hardened under her touch. She trailed her nails across his chest to toy with the other nipple, and then smoothed her fingertips over the curve of his ribs towards the flat plane of his stomach, still continuing to kiss him.

He was arching upwards, wanting to feel her touch harder on him, but she resisted, playing with him, deliberately keeping her touch featherlight. She flattened her hand and stroked it over the smooth skin of his stomach. His groin was aching with need, his manhood pulsing with lust, but it wasn’t until she released her mouth from his that she allowed her hand to slide lower and caught the tip of his cock with the heel of her hand. He gasped with the intensity of it, although she had barely touched him, his cock quivering with anticipation.

‘Your name?’ he whispered. ‘You can tell me your name?’

She didn’t reply, just shook her head, her hair flicking over his skin. She pressed her lips to that hollow between his collarbones, feeling the pulse of his heart against her lips. She kissed it, and then trailed her tongue down his chest. The cooling effect of the breeze on the wetness had Gwaine whimpering with desire.

‘Release me,’ he said. ‘I want to hold you.’

One again she shook her head, but then continued to lick down over his stomach. His manhood was rearing upwards now, desperate to be touched. She carefully placed her hands on either side of it, deliberately not touching it, and then lowered her head, using only the very tip of her tongue to taste the drop of moisture that had already formed there. The pain of avoidance was exquisite, his cock trembling with the lack of contact. She lapped at the tip, pressing her tongue to still its movements and then lapping and licking again until Gwaine was writhing, trying to force himself deeper into her mouth, but she resisted.

He was so close to climaxing that when she carefully curled her fingers around the base of his cock and squeezed, he began to spurt, his seed being collected between the receptive lips of the Spirit of the Trees.

She released him and sat back onto her heels, removing the last traces of dribble from her lips with one finger. Gwaine thought he had never seen anything so sensual, already recovering despite so recently drained.

‘I want you,’ he said.

‘We have your seed. We are done.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Sir Gwaine?’

‘You have what you need from me. Now give me what I need from you.’

‘And what is that?’

‘To touch you. To hold you. To be one with you. Release me.’

She untied the bonds at his feet and then at his ankles and Gwaine stretched his muscles out and kicked off his trousers before turning towards the Spirit of the Trees. He reached a hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her towards him into a kiss. His fingers stroked her cheek and then down onto her breast. She didn’t complain, and as he cupped her breast with his hand and stroked a thumb over her nipple, he felt her kiss falter. She wanted this as much as he did.

This knowledge powered his kiss and he pulled her closer to him, his lips harder on hers, his tongue plundering her mouth. She responded to him, passion suddenly unleashed in her and she was kissing him back, harder, their tongues twining with each other, now vying for dominance.

It was Gwaine who won by the simple action of trailing a finger over her breast and catching her nipple. She trembled and relaxed, and he took the opportunity to pull her against him. He lifted her legs over his so that she was sitting on his lap, facing him, kissing him. His hands slid down her back and onto her round bottom, and then he lifted her onto his erection, sliding into her, her legs entwining him, pulling their hips closer together.

He started to rock, moving deeper and deeper into her with every motion. She was breathing deeper now, and Gwaine squeezed her breast with one hand, the other holding her close against him. He could feel the passion in her rising as his hips undulated rhythmically. She pulled her mouth away from his to arch back from him, her fingers firmer on his muscles as she gripped him harder and he upped the pace, rocking her towards her climax until he swiftly changed position, lying on his back so that she was above him. She stretched her arms upwards, flexing her fingers outwards, branch-like. He looked up at her, silhouetted in the moonlight, He had never seen anything more natural, more beautiful, and it drove him into harder and harder thrusting.

When she came, she released a feral moan that was so arousing, it triggered his own release, so that his final strokes were accompanied by her lingering whimpers until she collapsed onto him, sinking into his embrace.

‘Same time next year?’ Gwaine whispered, and for the first time, she smiled.

 

It was Percival who found him the following morning, asleep and alone.

‘Gwaine!’ He nudged him with his foot.

‘Ugh? Where am I? What happened?’

‘Dunno, but you seem to have lost all your clothes. Not for the first time, but usually you know why.’ He unwound his cloak and threw it across Gwaine.

‘How did you find me?’

‘Followed your trail. What happened?’

‘I’m not entirely certain, but there was a woman-’ Percival snorted derisively. ‘Well, not exactly a woman . . .’

‘Gwaine!’

‘No, no . . . it was the Spirit of the Trees.’

‘Yeah, right. The Spirit. Of the . . . trees. Did that cost extra?’

‘Pffft! I have never paid for it in my life!’

‘Well someone’s had your clothes.’

‘Good point.’ He looked around and saw a squirrel watching him from a low branch. Was it the same one as last night? He couldn’t tell, but then noticed a flash of red behind it and recognised his cloak. He also wasn’t sure that the squirrel didn’t wave Goodbye and glanced back to Percival to see if he’d noticed, but he was looking the other way. When Gwaine turned back, the squirrel had disappeared so he crossed to the bushes where his clothes were neatly folded, tugging them quickly on.

‘So was she good, this spirit?’

‘Amazing. Especially for a spirit.’

‘Of the trees . . . And now I suppose you’re going to tell me you had wood?’ Percival asked, trying to suppress a smile.

‘Perce! That is such a bad joke!’

‘So bad you wish you’d thought of it?’

‘Of course.’

‘So did she have a name, this, Spirit of the . . . trees?’

‘Errr, no.’

‘Right . . .’

‘Except . . . what are these trees here? That was her name.’

Percival looked around the circle. ‘These? These trees are hazel.’

 


End file.
